


this

by iwasfollowingyou



Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: Alcohol, Comfort, Established Friends with Benefits?, Established Hooking Up, Established Relationship, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Roman Roy is Gay, au where stewy and roman aren't horrible people, established something, kind of not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-02-23 14:21:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23879455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwasfollowingyou/pseuds/iwasfollowingyou
Summary: “Roman, what the fuck?” Stewy rubs his eyes and shakes his head, thinking that maybe when he looks again, Roman won’t be there.It doesn’t work. Of course it doesn't work.
Relationships: Stewy Hosseini/Roman "Romulus" Roy
Comments: 2
Kudos: 31





	this

**Author's Note:**

> i wish i could say this is 100% ironic but it is very much not. i have only watched eight episodes of succession but i made a comment to my friend that "roman and stewy fuck" and three hours later this came into existence. this is taking place in a fantasy world where stewy and roman are actually genuinely good people deep down (WAY deep down) and stewy is in this for more than just the money and i can pretend like these characters are redeemable

“Roman, what the fuck?” Stewy rubs his eyes and shakes his head, thinking that maybe when he looks again, Roman won’t be there. 

It doesn’t work. Of course it doesn’t work.

Roman clears his throat and shifts his weight awkwardly from side to side. His eyes are red, and Stewy can’t tell whether he’s high or he’s been crying. He doesn’t smell like weed, but Roman Roy doesn’t cry. Stewy blinks a few times, opens his mouth, then closes it again. 

“Can I come in?”

“I—yeah, fuck. I mean, you’re already here, right?”

Stewy steps back and lets Roman in, closing the door quietly behind him. Roman stands in the entryway, looking like a kicked puppy.

“Do you want a drink, or...?”

“Drink would be good.” Roman’s shoulders relax just the tiniest amount. 

He follows Stewy into the apartment like a ghost. It’s creepy how silent he is.

Stewy flicks the light switch in the kitchen and heads for the liquor cabinet. Roman sits down at the island and leans on his arms. Stewy grabs a bottle of whiskey and a glass. 

“Ice?” he asks. Roman nods, and Stewy pours a glass, then slides it over to Roman, who holds it in his hands and stares down into it like it’s a crystal ball. 

They sit in silence for a few minutes. Stewy isn’t really in the mood for alcohol, but it seems too pathetic to let Roman drink alone, so he pours himself a glass of water and pretends. He takes a few sips and tries to act like he isn’t looking at Roman.

“It’s my dad,” Roman finally says. His voice is small. 

“Naturally.”

Roman shakes his head. “It’s not... it’s—he’s been, I dunno. Just fucking weird lately.”

“Rome, he’s been fucking weird for months now. Years.” As long as Stewy has known him, at least. Everything about that family is fucking weird.

“Not like this.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He’s not a great listener, but he’s willing to give it a shot.

To his relief, Roman shakes his head. He downs his drink, then finally looks up at Stewy.

“God, you look pathetic.”

Roman snorts and wipes his nose on his sleeve. “Fuck you,” he says half-heartedly.

“Where were you?”

“The office.”

“It’s, like, four in the morning.”

“Yup.”

Stewy lets the silence hang between them for a moment. He's trained himself not to ask questions—he doesn’t care about the why or the details of anything. He's just there to ensure his money gets where it needs to go. He refuses to be emotionally invested in anything related to the Roy family.

He walks around the island and stands next to Roman. 

“Rome.”

“Yeah.”

“Come to bed.”

Roman lets Stewy guide him off of the seat and down the hallway. “I just gotta—I’m gonna use the bathroom.”

“Sure.”

Stewy heads into the bedroom and pauses. He takes a deep breath, attempting to collect his scattered thoughts, but they start to form scary pictures, so he lets them stay as they are. No questions. No why. Just let it happen.

He grabs a pair of sweats from his dresser and leaves them outside the bathroom door, then returns to his room. He sits on the edge of the mattress and massages his temples. His head is pounding.

Roman comes out of the bathroom, wearing Stewy’s sweats. Neither of them says anything. Roman drops his shirt and jacket on the armchair in the corner, then stands in front of the window. His muscles are tensed, shoulders tight underneath the fabric of his thin undershirt.

Stewy cautiously pads up behind him, keeping a safe few inches of distance between them. Roman’s gaze is fixed on something far off in the distance. Down on the street, dozens of stories beneath them, an ambulance whizzes past, lights flashing. They’re high enough that the siren is muted, but it’s still there.

“Roman.”

Roman tenses up as Stewy’s hand comes to rest on his hip, but he doesn’t pull away. Stewy is pretty sure that something in his chest just snapped.

“You need to get some sleep. Whatever—whatever’s going on, you can figure it out in the morning.”

He slowly, carefully pulls Roman away from the window and towards the bed. He waits for Roman to get under the covers before sliding in on the other side.

Silence falls over them again, weighing heavy on Stewy’s chest.

“Am I a bad person?”

“What?”

“Am I—am I a fucking bad person, or... just. Am I a terrible fucking human being?”

“Rome—“ Stewy rolls onto his side. Roman is staring straight up at the ceiling.

“Don’t bullshit me, Stewy.” He doesn’t look at Stewy as he sits up.

“Roman...”

Roman shakes his head, then drops it into his hands. Stewy sits up. He runs a hand through his hair and takes a shaky breath. Roman looks as if he’s about to fall to pieces in front of him, and he knows one wrong move could shatter whatever this is. Could shatter Roman.

“Don’t fuck with me,” Roman says quietly. Stewy isn’t used to hearing his voice without any bite.

“No, Roman.” Stewy shifts towards him. “You’re not a bad person.”

“Is my dad?”

“Yes,” he says, without hesitation. 

“Seems like that’d be genetic.”

“You’re not a bad person, Rome.” Stewy slides an arm around his shoulders. Roman tenses, and Stewy prepares himself to be shoved away, but nothing happens. “Just because you were born into a fucked-up family doesn’t make you a bad person.”

“Makes me a fucked-up person.”

“Maybe a little,” he concedes. “But aren’t we all?”

Stewy pulls Roman a little closer. Roman resists at first, but then he gives in, all of the fight leaving his body in one long breath. His head rests back against Stewy’s shoulder, and Stewy has to remind himself how to breathe.

“You’re a good person, Rome,” he says softly, “but it’s like—it’s like you don’t _want_ to be. You’re trying so hard to be like your father that it’s like you’re trying to convince yourself you aren’t human anymore.”

He’s tried to tell himself that he hasn’t noticed it, but he has, of course he has. The facade that Roman has built up, that he’s perfected over the years of being his father’s son. Loud, douchey, just insufferable enough that people will tolerate him but don’t want to actually get to know him. Stewy didn’t want to get to know him, either.

“You’re a better person than most of the people in this business. Me, I'm—well, I'm not a good fucking person. I’ve accepted that.”

“Stewy.”

“No, it’s fine. It’s the truth.” He shrugs. “I’m not a good person. But you can’t survive this shit if you are. It—they whittle you down to nothing, if you try to stay good. You can’t keep your humanity if you want to be like us.”

He can’t remember the last decent person he’s met. Kendall, maybe, but he’s become something else. It’s a common theme, he’s noticed, in the Roy family. They all turn into twisted versions of themselves eventually. Some quicker than others.

He rests his head against Roman’s. Roman sighs.

“I don’t want to be like my dad. I want to fucking—I want to be better than him. I want to do what he does, but I don’t—fuck, all I wanted for so long was to be him. He was like a god.”

“He still is like a god,” Stewy comments. 

“But then we all saw him break down. And he was still—well, shit, he was still a human under all that shit. He just built himself up so much that you forgot about it.”

“You’re not a bad person, Rome. I think that’s why you’re not cut out for this shit.”

Roman turns his head so his face is pressed into Stewy’s neck. Stewy brings his other arm up and wraps it around Roman. He holds him like that for as long as Roman will let him, ready for Roman to push him off and curse him out at any second. 

He doesn’t.

Stewy’s heart is pounding in his chest. His nerves are on edge; it feels like his entire body has been doused in gasoline, and Roman is holding a match. 

“Rome,” he whispers, “you don’t have to be like them.”

“What the fuck am I if i’m not?”

“This.” Stewy lays back down, bringing Roman with him. “You’re this.”

Roman, for the first time in however many months they’ve been doing this (fourteen months, two weeks, and three days), presses himself against Stewy’s side and drapes an arm over Stewy’s stomach. Stewy looks up at the ceiling and mouths a silent prayer. 

“You’re this,” he says again. “You’re not them.”

“But you are.”

“No.” He shakes his head. “Not like that. Not like them.” 

Roman is the only person who will ever know that. Stewy thinks he’s okay with it.

There’s another few moments of silence. Roman’s breath steadies, warm against Stewy’s neck, and Stewy lets out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

He tightens his arm around Roman’s shoulders, then presses his lips to his hairline. Roman shifts in his sleep, but he stays where he is. 

Stewy looks out the window. The sky is just starting to lighten, the dark beyond the skyscrapers giving way to the inky navy blue, and he knows that he’s not sleeping again, not tonight. But Roman’s weight is warm against him, and he knows it won’t be there in the morning, and he’s willing to take whatever he can get for as long as he can right now.

**Author's Note:**

> by publishing this fic i have increased the roman/stewy content on ao3 by 50% and i would be lying if i said i wasn't proud of that. anyway. roman roy is a homosexual and i want to thank kieran for giving me my rights. also if these characters were actually real i would completely despise them and they wouldn't deserve to exist. eat the rich and follow me on tumblr @vaguelyprophetic


End file.
